


these shadows almost killed your light

by hex_o



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Episode: s05e14 In Purgatory's Shadow, Episode: s05e15 By Inferno's Light, First Time, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27153616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hex_o/pseuds/hex_o
Summary: “If it wasn’t for Tain -” Garak was practically whispering now. “- you would have died in that camp. I know he only saved you as a side effect of saving himself, but even in his final moments, Tain has left me once again in his debt.”
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 16
Kudos: 154





	these shadows almost killed your light

Julian’s hands trembled as he pressed the broken shard of bulkhead against Garak’s palm. His scaled hand was cool and steady, soft against Julian’s rough fingers. His blood stayed red.

Tain said that Garak would come, steadfast even in his most delirious moments, but Julian hadn’t held out hope until he stumbled free from isolation - and there he was. Finally. 

He’d felt numb for days, maybe weeks - he was coping, best he could. But Garak, _Garak_ , here in this place, even captured, even shocked as he was to see him - Julian was suddenly hit with a rush of joy, a heartbeat’s worth of hope. 

Of course, it didn’t last long. Their situation was still bleak, and Garak was so wrapped up in Tain that he barely looked Julian in the eye. Julian felt selfish and small for resenting him that, until he learned why Garak was so affected. His _father_. 

To be given that honesty, that vulnerability, by a man who claimed to know neither- 

He wasn’t sure if it was an apology for having failed to notice Julian’s absence or simply the act of someone desperate to have another living soul bear him witness. 

\----

“Gentlemen, I don’t know about you, but my business here is done.” Garak drew himself up from next to the bed, calm and collected. 

“Then, I suggest we find a way out of here,” replied Worf. 

Martok looked past Garak to the body covered by the sheet.

“I grieve for your loss,” he said. Worf nods in assent. 

“Thank you,” said Garak, bowing his head in response. “It’s always difficult to lose an old friend.” He looked, to a casual observer, completely unaffected by Tain’s death, although Julian imagined he could see a tremor in his shoulders. Julian took a shallow breath and tried to steady himself. 

“The Jem’Hadar - they’ll see the life sign has gone,” Julian said quietly. “Tain isn’t the first. They come for the bodies after a minute or so.” Garak’s hands twitched.

“Well, I do suppose we won’t want to be here when they arrive.” Garak gestured at the door. “Shall we continue our walk, Doctor?” 

Worf took a step forward. “If you like, I will wait with the body until the Jem’Hadar come.” He squared his shoulders. “I do not know Cardassian custom, but as a custom of my House, we do not leave a body alone until burial.”

“That would be much appreciated. All I ask-” Garak hesitated. “Don’t look at the body.” His eyes darted over to the corner. “It is taboo in Cardassian custom for a non-Cardassian to view one’s body after death. I’m sure the Jem’Hadar won’t be as accommodating, but…” he sighed. “If possible to avoid it, I would be grateful.” Worf and Martok nodded their heads in solemn assent. 

Garak bowed his head in thanks, and began to make his way towards the entrance to the barracks. 

“Thank you,” said Julian. “We’ll be back.” 

He followed Garak, catching up as he made his way to the main courtyard. Garak’s strides were long, carrying him from Tain as fast as he could without drawing attention. 

Once they reached the furthest corner from their barracks, Garak stopped abruptly, and Julian narrowly avoided crashing into his back. He turned to Julian, less composed than he had been in the room, but still calm enough that no one would notice anything awry, were they to look over. His eyes were wide, watery in a way Julian wasn’t quite expecting, and Julian wasn’t sure how to respond - all of his normal mechanisms for comforting grief seemed as if they would be lost on Garak, especially given their captive circumstances. 

“That’s why he was so sure you would come,” murmured Julian after a moment’s hesitation. “I knew you were loyal to him, after everything he’s done to you-” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “Garak, I’m so sorry.” 

Garak’s eyes weren’t quite focused, looking over Julian’s shoulder to the door of the barracks. His face was impassive, but his breathing was shallow. Julian, tentatively, reached out to touch Garak’s arm, above his elbow. He felt Garak’s muscle tense under his hands, and Garak turned to look directly at Julian. 

“I trust you did what you could for him.” Garak’s voice was calm, steady, but he was still rigid under Julian’s hand. 

“There wasn’t much I could do, with an absolute lack of any sort of medical equipment or supplies. I tried to make him rest, when I could, but I’m sure you know most of those efforts were futile at best.”

“I’m sure.”

“We discussed literature, you know - he couldn’t believe I didn’t enjoy _The Never Ending Sacrifice_. I should have guessed your connection then.” Julian forced a sad smile, but he could hear raucous movement behind him. Garak turned his head, looking over Julian’s shoulder again. 

“Do you know what they do with them, after they’re removed?” 

Julian shook his head. “I suppose...well, they’re likely disposed of out the airlock. I can’t imagine the Jem’Hadar showing reverence for the bodies of their prisoners.” 

Garak’s eyes flashed. A group of Jem’Hadar, having entered the barracks, returned to the main floor. One of them dragged the body, still wrapped in the threadbare blanket. Garak took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“You don’t have to watch this,” said Julian. He stepped around Garak, using the hand on his arm to turn him away. “You know he’s gone, this time. It’s over.” Garak, surprisingly, allowed himself to be moved. For a moment, his face fell, and he swayed in place - but before Julian could reach out his other hand to steady him, he had straightened back up, and firmly put his calm, composed persona back in place.

“We should return to our colleagues-in-arms,” he said, gently removing himself from Julian’s grip. “If we want to get out of here, there’s _precious_ little time to waste.” 

With that, he turned and began to walk back. Julian stood for a few moments longer, watching, then followed. 

\----

All the Cardassians got to leave but Garak. Gul Dukat was the _worst_. 

\----

It was too late in the artificial day to start work without causing suspicion, as most of the remaining prisoners had already fallen asleep. Without discussion, Worf took the bunk previously occupied by Tain. He was unconscious in moments, the snuffling noises of sleep blending in with the background drone of the camp. 

Julian and Garak were the last left awake, sitting on the end of Julian’s bunk, and although Julian didn’t need as much sleep as other humans in the grand scheme of things, the strain of isolation and the emotional upheaval of Garak’s arrival and Tain’s death had his body crying out for rest. Garak, too, had lost some of his carried composure. His shoulders were hunched over more than he would normally allow, and his elbows leaned on his knees, hands hanging limp. 

“We both need sleep if we’re to be functional enough to make this escape plan work,” said Julian, as quietly as he could manage. “We can both fit on the cot if you don’t mind being cozy.” All the other cots were occupied, and although there was a scenario where one of them laid on the cold stone floor to try and rest, it was a scenario best avoided, in Julian’s opinion. 

There was a pause, and Garak raised his eye ridges and smiled beatifically in Julian’s direction. “Why, Doctor, _all_ this time I've been _waiting_ for an invitation, and when it comes, it’s in front of the Klingons?" He fluttered his eyelashes theatrically. Julian snorted and, always happy to escalate Garak’s dramatic notions, put his hand on Garak’s thigh. 

“You’ve caught me, Garak.” He squeezed Garak’s leg gently. “This-" He gestures around the room. "-has all been an _elaborate_ ruse to get you into my bed. I can’t believe I’ve been caught out.” He leaned in and, playing along, started to run his hand up Garak’s inseam - and Garak’s eyes got a little wider, and the smile became a little more genuine, how interesting, how _wonderful_ \- but Julian, struck by the urge to _keep going_ , felt abruptly nervous and pulled his hand away. He instead leaned backwards until he landed on the cot, stretched out against the wall. He put on his most casually uninterested face, sure that Garak would see right through it. His mouth was a little dry; he couldn’t claim to be unaffected from touching Garak.

Garak turned to face him. His ridges were flushed, faintly, a dark grey that almost blended in with the shadows on Garak’s face, and his smile was soft and honest. It warmed Julian to see it, here in this place. 

“And your plan was clearly a _rousing_ success! There’s hope for you yet, Doctor.” 

“All in a day’s work,” said Julian. He patted the empty space in the bed. “Come sleep.” 

It was rare for Garak to follow a command from Julian without question, but out of all the rare things Julian had witnessed today, this was so far the most welcome. Garak lay down on his side, his back curved against Julian’s chest. Even through Garak’s usual thermal layers, Julian could tell he was cold. Hesitating for only a moment, he wrapped his arm around Garak’s chest and held him close, thumb tracing small circles into Garak’s tunic. Garak hummed under his breath and leaned into the embrace. 

_Oh_ , Julian had missed him. 

Isolation had been harrowing. An extrovert at the worst of times, Julian thrived on interaction with other sentient beings. Julian _needed_ to be around people, and the days he had spent utterly alone had drained him. Any longer, and it would have crossed the line into torture. It was overwhelming, to go from the unforgiving, lifeless cold of the isolation cell, to holding this living, breathing, gorgeous body pressed into his. 

Garak smelled so good, too, earthy and clean, and Julian breathed him in as if the smell alone would sustain him. He tilted forward until his face pressed against Garak’s upper back. Garak shivered as Julian exhaled over the scales on the lower part of his neck, and his hand came up to hold Julian’s where it rested on Garak’s chest. 

Before Julian had been captured and replaced, he and Garak had ostensibly been friends, nothing more. And yet - 

Julian would be hard pressed to find a word in Standard that perfectly encompassed their relationship. Julian considered Garak one of his most intimate companions; no one had ever brought out the best in him, made him feel alive, _known_ him as Garak did. _Something_ had been building between them since their first meeting but resulted only in _almosts_ and _not quites_ and hands shaking, reaching - Julian _aching_ to touch him but never, never crossing the line, not wanting to risk losing him. He could feel it from Garak, too, could feel his stare in his stomach and his chest. They were waiting for the space between them to collapse. And Garak was _here_ now, after Julian had been alone for so long, and _starved_ for him. 

Julian kissed the ridge running down the back of Garak’s spine. 

Garak tilted his head and looked over his shoulder. Julian could see quiet surprise and pleasure on his face. He pushed his face into the side of Garak’s neck, in the hollow below Garak’s ear where his neck ridges melted into his skull, and pressed a tender, open-mouthed kiss to the spot where they met. Garak’s breath caught. He ran the very edge of his teeth along the nearest scale, tasted the rough skin with his tongue, and Garak shivered again. Julian’s breath was faster, now, heart pounding, nearly overcome with how _good_ this felt. He moved to the next ridge down and bit down gently. 

Garak managed to swallow the moan before it escaped, but Julian’s enhanced hearing still picked it up. Garak pressed up against Julian, tilted his head back further until it rested on Julian’s shoulder, and Julian pulled back to look at him; his expression was tender, joyful, bittersweet. Garak’s hand tightened on his. 

Then Worf, from the next bunk over, let out a loud snore, and Julian jumped. He looked away to check that the other occupants of the barracks were still asleep, and thankfully, all were. For a moment, Julian had almost, _almost_ forgotten where they were, caught up in the elation of Garak next to him. 

He looked back down, but the expression on Garak’s face had changed to something calm and disingenuous. The moment had been broken.

“We should sleep,” Garak murmured, impassive. He faced forward once again, still curled up against Julian, keeping hold of his hand. Julian settled back down behind him, arm comfortably wrapped around Garak’s chest, and forced himself to take deep, even breaths, until he drifted off, almost against his will.

They got almost a full night’s sleep: a luxury. 

\----  
He dragged Garak out of the wall and watched as he crawled back in. 

\----  
“Take us to maximum warp, Garak,” Julian said. “We’ve got to get a message to the station.” 

Garak’s hands flew over the controls. “I’ll take care of it, Doctor - go tend to your wounded.” 

“Let me know the moment you get in touch with Starfleet.” He put a hand on Garak’s shoulder, squeezed briefly, then turned and headed to the back of the runabout. 

It took him almost an hour to get Worf treated and resting, and although he would need further treatment upon their return to the station, Julian was pleased to have him stable. It took another half hour after that to convince Martok to let Julian assess his older wounds, and even then, he wouldn’t allow Julian to remove all his scars - they were the trophies of a battle fought, after all. After, as satisfied as he could be with their care, he excused himself from the cramped cabin. 

He walked back to the bridge. Garak was still in the pilot’s seat, hands gliding over the console less frantically than before. The reality of their escape was starting to settle in for Julian as they got further from the prison camp, but he was trying to keep the emotions and exhaustion at bay, for the time being. 

“Any luck contacting the station?” He raised his tricorder and started to wave the scanner over Garak. Julian knew that the worst injuries were likely not physical, but a checkup would help keep Julian focused. It felt good to have access to advanced medical equipment after weeks of nothing but his bare hands. 

“Doctor, must you?” Garak waved at the tricorder as he would a bothersome insect. “Unfortunately, nothing yet. We should have been in range already, but communication with the Alpha Quadrant seems to be impossible at the moment.” Julian’s stomach clenched with worry. He tried to push it down: they would be close to the wormhole soon enough. Being unable to reach the station at this point could mean anything as simple as a fried listening post; it wasn’t necessarily indicative of the worst case scenario. 

Garak sighed. “Are you quite done? I assure you, I’m fine.” 

“Done for the moment,” confirmed Julian, snapping the tricorder shut. “No major injuries to report, although the infirmary on Deep Space Nine will be able to give us more detailed information.” 

“I’m sure you’ll find I’m quite well,” Garak replied. “And you, my dear? Any bumps or bruises from that last fight with the Jem’Hadar?” Julian slumped in the other pilot’s seat. 

“I’m fine.” He leaned his head on the back of the seat and looked over at Garak. “Where’s our Romulan friend?” 

“Kalenna is experiencing the best hospitality we can offer on such short notice.” He folded his hands in his lap. “I did take the liberty of restricting access to the console in her cabin - wouldn’t want to make it too easy for the Tal Shiar to steal Federation secrets.” The corners of his mouth curled up. 

“Thank you,” Julian murmured. “I’m sorry you had to suffer so greatly to save us." 

“Well, nothing new there, Doctor.” Garak’s mouth twisted in something more than a grimace and less than a smile. “And I am _quite_ glad you’re safe.” He turned away to the viewscreen. 

The cockpit was quiet for a few minutes, as both Garak and Julian watched the stars flow past the window. 

“In that last fight, I killed a man,” said Julian. Julian knew death, knew it intimately, as any doctor would, especially one in an organization like Starfleet, but most of his interactions with it were professional - not a shiv plunged into a throat.

“Not the first life you’ve taken in the service of Starfleet ideals.” 

“No.” 

“Then why bring it up? I, for one, thank you for doing what had to be done.” 

“I’ve killed for Starfleet before - in self defense, or in defense of the station, but it’s always been with a phaser, or from the helm of a starship. I’ve never killed someone - ” He broke off to take a shaky breath. “I stabbed him in the _neck_ , Garak. I’ve never taken a life with my bare hands before. No matter what needed to be done.” He turned to Garak, eyes wide. “They had come to kill you.” 

“It’s not surprising, given what we know of Dukat’s _incomprehensible_ vendetta against me. Me! A simple tailor.” He sighed, hands spread wide. “It was a mistake for him to let me live once my imprisonment was extended past that of my fellow Cardassians. Of course, this isn't the first time he's failed in his attempts to kill me, and I'm sure it won't be the last.” He turned to Julian, face growing serious. “And you killed to save us, and the life you took was that of a Jem’Hadar soldier in the line of duty. There was nothing else you could have done.” 

Julian looked down at his hands. 

“I didn’t even hesitate to take a life, to save you.” He looked up at Garak from beneath his eyelashes. His jaw clenched. “I would do it again.” 

Garak leaned back without looking away, and opened his mouth to respond -

-and the console lit up with brilliant color. They were within communications range of the Alpha Quadrant. 

\----  
They transmitted a priority one message through to Deep Space Nine. The Changeling died in the vacuum of space.

\----

The Defiant escorted them home.  
Captain Sisko sent Julian and Garak back to their respective quarters to clean up and rest, with formal debriefing scheduled for the following day. Julian was still wearing the tattered uniform that had hung off his body for weeks. He needed a hot shower, with real water, not sonic. He needed soft, clean fabric, and a _bed_ , with a _pillow_. 

He and Garak walked to the turbolift, arms brushing every few steps. As they entered the lift, Julian could feel Garak tense up next to him. His breathing became measured, controlled, and when Julian looked over, his jaw was clenched tightly. 

“Do you normally have trouble with the turbolifts?” Julian asked softly. “Are you normally just hiding it?” 

“Not usually, but I’m finding being in such proximity to an attack has...heightened my awareness. It will pass.” 

Julian nodded in understanding, and reached out to take Garak’s hand. Garak held onto it until the turbolift delivered them to the Habitat Ring. 

They soon reached the split for their respective quarters. Hesitantly, Garak asked, “Shall I walk you home? I wouldn’t want you to get whisked away by the Dominion again.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a joke, not really. 

“By all means,” Julian said, relieved, and led the way down the corridor, dimmed for the artificial night cycle. He felt hyperaware of Garak’s presence next to him, the strangeness of being home tempered by his familiar companion. They reached his quarters shortly, and as the doors opened-

-Julian was suddenly, deeply glad he was not confronting this alone. His first thought was that he was glad Leeta still had Kukalaka; he remained untouched by the Changeling. 

An unenhanced human might not have noticed all the minute and numerous differences from a life lived by the imposter, but Julian could tell this was a stranger’s space. Julian knew exactly where his things had been when he left for the conference, all those weeks ago, and everything was different now. The items on the coffee table had moved, his stack of PADDs was in disarray, his closet door was open and the clothes were rearranged, the bed was messy, a pillow left carelessly on the floor - did Changelings even wear clothes? Did they _sleep_? Did Julian’s double - did he bring someone else back here to his _bed_ \- did he - 

He suddenly found it hard to breath and backed out of the room, staggering backwards until he hit the other side of the corridor. He sank down against the bulkhead until he was crouched on the floor, and covered his face with his hands. He was angry at himself, because he should have known how hard it would be to witness hard evidence of this _invasion_ , and frustrated because he truly, desperately needed a shower, and a shave, and to sleep in a bed that wasn’t a bunk in a prison camp, and he couldn’t get any of those things here. 

Garak hit the door controls. Julian let his hands fall, watching as the room slid out of view. It occurred to Julian he should be angry at Garak, for not realizing he had been gone, but he couldn’t sustain anger towards someone who had just saved his life. That, and he understood that the changelings were very, very good at impersonating their marks. 

Julian wiped his eyes, but after everything he had been through in the past month, he wasn’t about to feel ashamed for something as reasonable as crying. 

“I’d offer you space in my quarters, but my couch is dreadfully uncomfortable, and I think we’ve both had enough of fitting onto beds meant for one," said Garak. 

Julian sniffed and hit his newly replaced combadge. “Bashir to Major Kira.” His voice was scratchy. 

“Kira here,” came the reply. “Julian, are you alright?” 

“Actually, Major, if you’re still in Ops, I need spare quarters for the night, if you can let me know what’s available. Anything with a hot water shower. And- “ he glanced over at Garak. “ -the biggest bed you can wrangle, if you please.” Garak smiled.

“Of course, Julian. No bother. Let me see what we have available.” There was a pause while she searched. “A-ha! Here you go. H4-603. I’ll set it up with your access code.” 

Julian sighed in relief. “Thank you. I tried to go into my quarters, but knowing the Changeling was there - I need some time before I can deal with that.” He could almost see the Major’s face, understanding and apologetic. 

“Of course. Julian-” she paused. “Is there anything you need? I can come by and keep you company, if you want?” 

“I appreciate it, but I could use some space for myself tonight. Thanks for your help, Kira. Bashir out.” The comlink closed. Julian tilted his head back to the corridor, and took a moment to breathe. 

Garak was waiting, patiently. “Shall we?” Julian asked. He pushed himself up off the ground and headed toward the quarters Kira had indicated. Garak followed, touching the back of his arm with the tips of his fingers, not willing to hold him closer as they travelled, but unwilling to be out of contact. 

\----  
“Computer, lock room at security level seven, authorization Bashir Delta-Nine-Blue.” The computer beeped in assent and Julian, safe behind Deep Space Nine’s security and a locked door to boot, relaxed for the first time since he had woken up in Internment Camp 371. He exhaled, letting go of everything in his lungs, and the tension dropped from his chest; everything he had been holding back started to swell in his throat. 

He turned to Garak, who was lingering just past the door, looking unsure. Julian pulled him forward with a hand on his arm, wrapped his hands around the sides of Garak’s neck, and ran his thumbs back and forth along the soft ridges along the edge of Garak’s jaw. Garak, hesitantly at first, then determined, wrapped his arms around Julian’s shoulders, and as they breathed together, his hands moved up, tangling themselves in Julian’s hair, holding him still, and close. Julian leaned forward until their foreheads touched. 

Garak’s pulse beat under Julian’s hands. He gently rubbed his nose on Garak’s, charmed by the vertical ridge there, struck almost dizzy by the joy of something so small. 

But - there was also exhaustion, and relief, and sorrow, and anger, and a hundred other emotions he could barely identify running through him, and it was almost too much for him to bear at once. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. Garak’s hands tightened in his hair, just shy of painful. “I need a shower, and I need to get out of this uniform.” He slid his hands to Garak’s chest. 

Garak leaned back to look at Julian. He gently slid his hands out of Julian’s hair, down Julian’s shoulders, letting him go, and Julian - with reluctance - pulled away. He turned and walked into the bathroom, but looked back as he crossed the threshold. Garak was watching.

\----  
Deep Space Nine was big enough to have real water facilities in addition to the sonic ones, and Julian had never been more grateful. The internment camp had had limited options for hygiene - running water, thankfully, enough to stay somewhat clean, but nothing resembling a shower. Julian peeled the ratty, dated uniform off his body, threw it in the corner as hard as he could manage, and stepped into the shower. He gasped in relief as the hot water sluiced down his body. 

He couldn’t bring himself to raise his arms, or actually reach towards the soap. As he stood under the spray, muscles soaking in the heat, and tried to gather the will to move, the bathroom door slid open. He opened his eyes halfway, and watched through the frosted glass wall as Garak pulled off his tunic and tossed it on top of Julian’s old clothing. 

“Unsalvageable?” Julian asked. 

“I appreciate your faith in my talents, my dear, but not even I could save that garment.” Garak grimaced. “I think this will do us the greatest service by going directly into the recycler.” 

Julian huffed a laugh and closed his eyes again. He could hear another _whump_ as more fabric hit the floor, and tipped his head back into the water, breathing out as it streamed over his face. As he came up for air, the shower door opened. 

Julian was momentarily overcome by the amount of _scales_ on display for him. He had enough of a rough outline of Cardassian anatomy that he wasn’t surprised by their major physical differences, but he felt spellbound by the ridges and waves covering Garak’s body. He had expected Garak to be grey everywhere, but there were _colors_ , blues and greens and peaches, shimmering unexpectedly. He reached out to touch the plates on Garak’s upper arms as Garak came to a stop scarcely a centimeter away from Julian. He ran his fingertips over the ridges running up Garak’s arms and over his chest, exploring. 

“I hope you don’t mind the company, Doctor, but I’m finding myself very unwilling to let you out of my sight right now.” 

Julian grinned, sleepy and crooked. “Your company is exceedingly welcome.” 

Garak’s hands came up to cup his face as Julian settled his hands at Garak’s waist. A beat passed between them, a breath taken, and then Julian kissed him, softly, and every molecule of him sang. 

He wrapped his arms around Garak’s thick, sturdy torso, revelling in the soft scales cascading down his sides and back, and pulled him in closer. Garak responded beautifully, opening for him. He gently cradled Julian’s jaw as if he were precious. Julian moaned into Garak’s mouth, unable to stay quiet, taken apart by the astonishing sensation of the ridges low on Garak’s torso brushing against his stomach. Sparks of desire and adrenaline flowed through him. 

Garak’s hands moved from Julian’s jaw to slide down, pressure firm but tender at Julian’s neck, before moving to his chest. Garak broke the kiss to gently herd Julian backwards until he found himself pushed against the wall of the shower, still halfway under the spray of water. His hips canted forward almost unconsciously and he gasped as Garak moved up against him, and oh, there were more ridges here, arcs over the curve of his waist, softer than Julian had imagined, and as he imagined the marks they would leave pressed into his skin he pulled Garak into another kiss, biting at his lower lip. 

He had been alone for so long, and had wanted Garak for even longer - heat was building up in his chest and stomach, skin buzzing, as Garak pushed a leg in between his. Garak’s hands started to drift lower, caressing his belly, running through the soft hair there, and Julian gripped the ridges curving over Garak’s shoulders - which caused Garak to gasp, shiver, and kiss Julian harder. Julian was so _hungry_ to touch and be touched right now - even before the internment camp, it had been weeks, maybe months, since anyone so much as hugged him, let alone anything more intimate. 

One of Garak’s hands slipped behind Julian to the small of his back, and the other lower still. He paused, hesitant, to look Julian in the eye. 

“ _Please_ ,” Julian moaned, and cried out as Garak finally, finally touched him. Julian’s head rolled back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. Garak buried his face in Julian’s neck, bit down, gently, _sweetly_. He moved to the hollow above Julian’s collarbone, then to the sensitive spot where Julian’s neck met his shoulder, then up the side of his neck, and after that, it took only a few moments and a clever twist of Garak’s scaled hand for Julian to come. His body shook, and he realized he was silently laughing, exuberant, elated, he felt _lighter_ , clinging to Garak as if he would float away if not for the strong arms and slick wall holding him up. 

Garak held fast as Julian’s body shivered with aftershocks. Julian swayed forward and his head landed on Garak’s shoulder. One arm wrapped around Julian’s waist, Garak reached over Julian to the built-in wall dispenser, which deposited a healthy dose of Federation standard shampoo in his hands. Still pressed together, Garak started to wash his hair, and the pressure of his fingers on Julian’s scalp sent shivers down his spine. 

“Head back,” said Garak, and he used one finger under Julian’s chin to gently tip him under the water, rinsing the shampoo out. He kissed the soft hollow under Julian’s jaw. 

\----

They kept the lights at twenty percent, rather than the pitch black Julian normally preferred for sleeping. 

Julian climbed in and settled in on his back. Garak curled up on his side facing him, and rested one scaled hand on Julian’s stomach. He could just make out Garak’s face in the room's soft light. He looked over at Julian, still and silent, unmoving; there was no pretense left in his expression. The space between them felt heavy, and quiet. 

Julian shifted from his back to his side. Garak’s hand stayed in contact, travelling along his body until it was wrapped around his back. Garak seemed more - subdued, maybe, than earlier, as if the wild grieving energy that had carried them into each other’s arms had started to settle into his bones. 

Julian brought his hand up, slowly, so as not to startle, and ran the barest tips of his fingers up the ridges along Garak’s neck, to settle his hand at the base of Garak’s jaw. His thumb brushed Garak’s cheekbone. The hand on Julian’s back increased pressure, encouraging him to shift even closer, until their bodies were aligned from head to toe. 

Julian’s thumb caressed Garak’s face. Julian pushed his legs in between Garak’s until they were stacked on top of each other, their bare chests pressed together, Garak’s scales soft and dry against Julian’s skin. Garak trembled, faintly, where their bodies met. Julian moved his hand to the back of Garak’s neck, fingers carding through the jet black hair, and closed the last centimeter between them. It was still such a new thing, being allowed to do this, _kiss_ him, and Julian’s heart felt full despite the somber atmosphere pervading the room. 

In any other scenario, Julian would be enthusiastically inciting a night of joyful, tender sex, but his body, both physically and emotionally exhausted, had other plans. Even as he kissed Garak, he felt himself begin to slip away - what betrayal! - and the last thing he remembered before finally drifting into unconsciousness was Garak, wrapping him in his arms. 

\----  


Julian woke up first, surprised - and pleased - that Garak was still asleep. After what they had been through, he really needed to rest, thought Julian. Quietly, so not to rouse him, he dressed and went to debrief with Sisko. Sisko, thankfully, made the process less harrowing it could have been, and Julian found himself headed back to the spare quarters after only a few hours.

The doors slid open to reveal that Garak had managed to wake himself and get dressed (something replicated, but soft, to Julian’s eye) since Julian’s earlier departure.

“What did you tell Captain Sisko?” Garak asked, in place of a greeting. He was lounging on the couch, spread across the entire length and deliberately casual, eyes trained on Julian as he settled into the armchair closest to Garak. 

“What do you mean? I gave him a full report.” Julian shifted, trying to find the most comfortable position; he still ached after weeks spent on the rickety cot.

“About Tain.” 

“I didn’t tell him about your familial connection, of course. I gave him the story as you and Worf would have given it - your old mentor called his former protégé for assistance, then he succumbed to his poor health.” 

Garak hummed his assent, but still seemed agitated. 

“Garak?” Julian asked, tilting his head in confusion. “Do you not trust me with something like this?” 

“It has nothing to do with my trusting you or not.” 

“Well, if you don’t trust me, why did you see fit to tell me he was your father?” Julian scowled, frustrated. 

“I trust you, Doctor, despite my best efforts, but as I said, sentiment has never served me well.” And more important than trusting you or not-” Garak looked up, eyes shining. “I didn’t reveal my parentage because I trust you. I needed someone to see. I needed someone to know.” 

His face grew dark.

“I spent my life denied by him, again, and again, and in spite of that, I gave him everything I had, everything I was, and - he cast me away, and I deserved it - I did everything I could to come home, and he knew that, and he called for me, when he knew he could call for no one else, when he knew no one else would come-” 

Garak stood, and paced across the room. “His son,” he spat, “his only flesh and blood, and I was - I was sorry - and what little scrap of forgiveness I asked for, he -” He shook his head, unable to continue speaking, and stared at his hands, held out in front of him, trembling. 

“Garak,” said Julian. He stood as well, concerned. He tried to pull on his professional demeanor, better to handle this sudden, riotous emotion, but found he couldn’t quite reach it. 

“You heard him,” said Garak. “'A weakness he could never afford.” He turned to Julian, eyes cast down. “And he was right.” His hands clenched on air. “He was right. And you, my dear Doctor -” 

Julian stepped closer, wary, and reached out, taking Garak’s hands. Garak stared at them.

“Sentiment,” Garak said, hushed, like a prayer. “I have always been weak.” 

“You’re not weak for having feelings.” Julian’s voice wavered, but his hands stayed steady, clutching Garak’s. “Tain was cruel to you, and he didn’t love you the way a father should. You are not weak for that.” 

Garak finally makes eye contact and his gaze burns into Julian like a brand. 

“If it wasn’t for Tain-” Garak was practically whispering now. “-you would have died in that camp. I know he only saved you as a side effect of saving himself, but even in his final moments, Tain has left me once again in his debt.” He shuddered, and pulled his hands out of Julian’s grasp. 

Before Julian could react, Garak had pulled him in, and was holding him like a lifeline, clinging to him, pressing their bodies together and his face into Julian’s neck. 

“I don’t know what I would have done if you died, Doctor.” 

Julian slowly raised his arms and wrapped them around Garak’s shoulders. Garak was breathing deeply, but unevenly. 

Julian was suddenly and unpleasantly reminded of the last time he and Garak had been in a near-death situation together: when Garak had almost pulled the trigger himself, when Julian was down on the Founders’ planet, and would have died had Garak succeeded. But, he supposed, Garak would have died too, moments later, caught up in the wave of destruction. He wondered if Garak would have made the same choice if he had had to go on living afterwards. He made an uneasy peace with that long ago, though. He has always held an exception for Garak. 

And here was Garak breaking to pieces in Julian’s arms. 

“You would have survived, as you always have,” murmured Julian, turning his face into Garak’s pitch black hair, breathing him in. 

“ _Julian_.” Garak’s voice was barely audible against the background hum of Deep Space Nine. He took a shuddering breath. “I’m not sure if this time I could have.” 

Julian had never seen Garak quite like this. He wasn’t sure if Garak had ever _let_ himself be seen like this. Julian understood now that he was trusted - and _loved_ , if he was reading this right, this confession that _Garak couldn’t live without him_ \- what other soul could claim to have seen his honest pain? A declaration more than he was expecting, from this master of obfuscation, although he couldn’t claim true surprise to see the soft underbelly so exposed. Garak presented a hard exterior, a shimmering, fluctuating shell, but when it came down to it, Julian had seen the tender heart, the gentle hands, the pain that reached his eyes. 

Still, though - even during the vulnerability of the wire incident, Garak had been lying through his teeth at every turn, lashing out, had never shown this - this _quiet_ despair. Oh, what it must be costing him to show this to Julian. He wondered if Garak had any choice left in the matter at this point, if he was too far gone with grief, and fear, or if he was choosing to be pragmatic, choosing to contain these confessions, this unwelcome exposure, this honesty, to one person.

Julian’s world had compressed, now, down to the two of them, holding each other in the center of the room. Garak was so tense, still, fingers gripping Julian’s back and holding him tightly, none of the sweet caretaking and gentle reassurance of the night before. Julian suddenly felt anxious. He wasn’t sure if Garak could give, or would be _willing_ to give, all of this at once - his sadness, his anger, all at once - if he could give that _and_ his love to Julian, all at once. It was _sentiment_ , after all. They had come out on the other side of trauma, alive, but it was hard to know if they would retreat into themselves and lick their wounds alone, or keep their hands steadily held together, carrying each other forward. 

But there would be time enough to discover that later. For now, Julian pulled back enough to look Garak in the eye, and kissed him tenderly. For now, Julian would take him back to bed, hold him closely, touch him, worship him until Garak knew how loved he was in return, until he could stop thinking and let himself go, even if for a moment. For now, Julian and Garak could hide from the return to their daily lives, and the complications it would bring. For now, they were home.

**Author's Note:**

> Is there any way two grown people could have fit into one of those prison camp cots? Absolutely not. Do I care? Not even the smallest amount. 
> 
> I don't know what it is about these two that's spurred me into writing fanfiction after twenty years of solely reading it, but I'm having so much fun. Un-beta'd and imperfect, but kaiidth, right?
> 
> I'm also on twitter - @janewayprotocol


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